


And I'll stand there always

by KimberlyAlexis



Series: Series 4 Setlock Inspired Johnlock [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: FIx It, First Kiss, M/M, Post episode tst, The Six Thatchers, canon compliant up until, not quite setlock, the start of mine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 17:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9247823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimberlyAlexis/pseuds/KimberlyAlexis
Summary: A little post the six thatchers with a first kiss and boys talking.---No need to read the others. This is an independent work following the canon events in the show.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something to read pre-tld!

John blinks his eyes open and sits up quickly. He's nearly sure he heard Rosie cry, but that can't be. Molly had taken Rosie to her flat.

On the wall is a note reminding John of this. His eyes look over the details of the note again and as he reads he starts to calm down.

_John,_

_Rosie is with me. She will be safe with me. Mrs. Hudson will be with me as well as Greg. Take these next few days to rest. I will text you photos every few hours. Please call if there is anything else I can do._

_Molly._

John scrubs one hand over his face as he stifles a yawn. His other hand reaches for his phone on the bedside table. True to her word there are already three photos waiting for John. He flicks through them and smiles. She's a beauty and he just hopes he can find a way to do right by her.

God. What the hell is he going to do?

Other than the messages from Molly there is also one from Greg letting John know Mrs. H stocked his fridge with food. And that Greg brought him a bottle or two.

He gets out of bed, puts on his dressing gown, and pads downstairs. He opens the fridge and sees more food than he can eat in a month. As he closes it his eyes land on the bottle sat on the table. It's the last thing John needs right now, but old habits die hard and he reaches for a glass and pours himself two fingers of the sweet smelling scotch.

The smell tickles his nose and reminds him of the last time he had this brand--his stag night. An entire lifetime has been lived since then.

Then he had a beautiful life to look forward to. He had a fiancée. He had a best friend. He had some hope that things would be fine for once. And now he has an ache in his heart that can never heal. And the shame that he knows it's all his fault.

The doorbell rings giving him a reprise from continuing down this dark path. He ties the knot on his robe tighter then walks toward the door. When he reaches it the door is flung open before he can even touch the handle. He steps back in shock and sees Sherlock standing there.

Sherlock is breathless with a five o'clock shadow and there is a rage in his eyes John has never seen. Which is fine, John thinks, because he himself has never been more angry in his life.

“What the hell are you doing here?” John stalks toward him. His fists balled up. He didn't want to do this, but right now he's angry and he wants to shout.

“I came to see you!” Sherlock spits out. He doesn't back down and this upsets John even more. He’d moved past blaming Sherlock for Mary's death. After all it wasn't his addiction that lead them here. Still John needed time away from Sherlock and damn him for not giving him what he needs. Just this once.

“I told you I didn't want to see you!” John is shouting and the door is open, the whole of the street can likely hear them but he doesn't care.

“Well I needed to see you!” Sherlock sweeps in further while swinging a hand back to close the door. He moves past John and in further. John breathes harsh and hard and tries to steady himself. He isn't going to do this. He’ll tell Sherlock to get the hell out and John will go back to trying to figure out what the fuck he's going to do.

“Sherlock,” John starts and realises he's shouting and that won't help. He takes a step back. He breathes in and out and tries to calm himself a bit. “Look I don't blame you anymore, but I need time.”

“We don't have time, John. We have to move now.” Sherlock looks at him pleading and John almost wants to give in and ask what he's on about, but he can't do this now. He doesn't trust himself right now, not with Sherlock, not with all the confusing feelings running through his head. He shakes his head no. Because he can't play this game today...likely never again.

“No. I don't care what you're talking about. Get out of here, Sherlock. I can't do this anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

John lifts his hands in the air. He's giving up it all. “This. Everything. You. Me. That lifestyle it--” and here is where he has to pause. He nearly chokes on his words, but he has to say them. “Look it wasn't you. I don't blame you.” He knows his eyes are watering and he's trying to stop them. He turns away, addresses the next bit to the wall behind Sherlock. “Look we did this. I...I was playing the game too. Addicted to it...to you. And if I had just said--if I had just stayed away--”

“John….”

John holds up a hand to stop him. Whatever out Sherlock has created for him isn't the truth and John won't stand to listen to it being spoken even once.

“I didn't want to,” John continues. “I could have taken her away once we knew what was happening. That I was losing her back to that life. Instead I played the game. Put a tracer on the drive instead of just talking to her. And that---Jesus that's not even the half of it. I--”

“I know about Elizabeth, John.” Sherlock says it quietly. As if it's still a secret. It isn't now. And apparently it never was. “She isn't who you think she is.”

“God. Sherlock.” John almost cries. “I know. I fuckin know that. I figured she was a plant of Moriarty’s or God knows who. But I ---I didn't. I didn't say anything to you or Mary because I wanted to play the game. I was always playing the game and now someone is dead. Rosie's mum is dead because I was--I was…unfaithful.”

Sherlock shakes his head. “Don't be absurd, John. You never touched that woman.”

“Of course I didn't. But I--I wasn't faithful to the vow I made to Mary...to always tell the truth. And I didn't because I...fuck. I wanted to impress you. I wanted to keep the game going for you. Because I fuckin needed you in my life and Christ. Just. If I had just walked away. God.” John sighs. “Can you go, Sherlock?” John's shoulders slump. His head bows. He can't look at Sherlock. He's laid bare all of his sins and he can't stand to look at the man. Especially knowing Sherlock will likely look at him like the fool he is. His hand clenches. He tries to calm himself. He refocuses his breathing. Closes his eyes then hears the sound of Sherlock taking slow steps. Most likely happily retreating from him forever.

“John.” Sherlock says and then his arms are around John. And John can't fight it anymore. He wraps his arms around Sherlock and holds on tight. He lets the wracking sobs go. He buries his face in Sherlock's chest. “John,” Sherlock says again. More quiet this time. His arms hold tighter. John can't believe how much he needs this, and he's so tired. He lets go entirely.

They somehow slump to the floor. John letting go of all he's held in over the past few weeks. Sherlock never letting go of John.

After long minutes John finds a way to steady himself. He takes a long breath in and slowly releases it then looks up into Sherlock's eyes. They are also watery but in nowhere near the shape John knows his eyes are.

Sherlock looks at him like he's trying to figure out what to say. He bites his lip and John can't help but smile at that. Sherlock trying to weigh and measure his words for John's sake is as perfect as him finding the right ones. Sherlock notices the smile on John's face and his eyebrows crease in confusion.

John doesn't know why but he frees a hand from holding onto Sherlock and instead reaches up to smooth out his brow. As he does this Sherlock's eyes close. And he looks beautiful, at peace.

It makes no sense other than it makes all the sense to John somehow. So he reaches up and places a kiss on Sherlock's forehead. His lips touch warm skin and the jolting reminder that Sherlock is alive and here and fighting for John stills him somehow.

A warning goes off in his head then. Now is not the time. Not when his wife has just died and regardless of the fact that they were possibly heading towards divorce doesn't make it any easier. Not after years of trying to figure out just how the fuck he fell in love with a man, this man of all men. Not when his life is in shambles. Now is the worst time. And yet John's mouth moves without thought to Sherlock's. And he places a gentle kiss on his lips.

Sherlock's eyes flutter for a moment as if they dare to open but then they don't and John closes his as well. Sherlock opens his mouth to deepen the kiss. John reaches up a hand to tilt his head just so and takes control. He drowns in it a bit. Letting his mind focus solely on the slow slide of tongues, the press of lips, the exchange of emotions for actions.

Sherlock is clutching at him even more so. A small whimper escapes his lips and it is the most beautiful sound John has ever heard. He kisses Sherlock even deeper. Lets a hand card through Sherlock's curls and holds steady.

It is a shock to John that Sherlock pulls back.

“Please.” Sherlock says. His eyes still shut tight.

“What Sherlock?” John asks while opening his eyes. His voice has gone quiet. He barely speaks above a whisper. Trying desperately to not break this moment, this respite. He looks at Sherlock's closed eyes and hopes.

“Please let this be real,” Sherlock says. He opens his eyes at that point. John sees Sherlock take him in. His eyes searching to see, process what is happening.

John hates himself for not knowing what to say. How real is this? Is this grief taking the form of finally letting repressed feelings come to light? Is this just a moment they'll share and never discuss? Does Sherlock truly want this to be real? John doesn't know so he asks.

“Do you want it to be?”

He isn't sure which answer he wants to hear right now. He just knows he has to ask. And then he'll know.

“I--,” Sherlock says then stops. Again with the biting of the lips and measuring what he's saying. Choosing to say something specific. “I do,” he says and he looks into John's eyes.

John sees the fear in Sherlock's eyes. He sees it and God he's never seen Sherlock look at him like this before. What else is he seeing?

“I think it is, yeah.” John can't help but huff out a hoarse laugh. “Bad timing but yeah...yeah It is for me if it is for you.”

“I have to tell you something then.”

“What?”

“I believe Mary is alive.”

**Author's Note:**

> More?


End file.
